Sadistic Enmity
by Cgaume12
Summary: Pain. How can one define pain? Is it physical, mental, emotional? Maybe...it's all in your head...
1. Sadistic Enmity

**Sadistic Enmity**

**Note: Fragments and line spacing used stylistically in this one-shot.**

My name is Cynder.

I am strong; I am agile. I could kill you with a flick of my tail, seduce you in a few words, or drive you insane by opening my mouth. Stealth is my forte, for anywhere you may cast a shadow, I can and will be.

I am mated to the legendary purple dragon, Spyro. If he told me you were to be killed, your life would end before he could next draw breath.

My name is Cynder, and I have spent the past few hours crying.

The majority of my life has been spent causing this world, and those who inhabit it, pain. Unspeakable, unfathomable pain. Pain that lasts, pain that permeates all other emotion, pain that bring about the end. City, village, family individual, all were crushed by my hand but not my will. And...I loved it; no, I love it.

I hate this love, but still a love it is.

Once freed, I weaned myself from it for a time. I was weaker then, and needed to rediscover my ability to fight. But when you are in danger, it comes easily and naturally. Knocking around Malefor's pitiful army fulfilled my need, along with...giving Spyro a little trouble at the start. Thinking about the battles ahead made me shudder; fighting was ecstasy and resting just a forced period of waiting.

Waiting to feel another being cowering beneath me.

Waiting to tear into flesh with my claws and teeth, to have the blood of my foes fuel the onslaught.

Waiting for the dull thud of a fallen enemy, and for the sharp crack as I cleaved their skull in two.

But it was over.

For threes months I was stagnant. Despite my reluctance, I started enjoying my time relaxing alone, being with Spyro, or crowded amongst the masses of dragons who once hated my very existence. I was at peace with myself, and everyone around me.

Last night, Spyro asked me to be his mate. I almost fainted at the very thought and after stumbling through a few words...I answered by tackling him to the ground and drawing him into a kiss. We mated and finalized our love...forever.

Then I nipped at him.

He was surprised at first and a little thrown off, but he liked it. So...I tried again only a little harder, continually biting at his neck. And I drew a little blood. The taste of it...enticed me for more. I licked and sucked at it, drawing out as much sustenance as I could get. Spyro...he started making sensual sounds which encouraged me to continue...and so I did. Slowly, the wound began to widen and his moaning grew with it.

Still he asked for more, and I wasn't going to disappoint him.

I targeted a few soft spots beneath his limbs that I knew from exploration of myself, and my past experience in...harming dragons, and slowly pushed in with my claws. He groaned and began to shake uncontrollably, and I laughed.

I laughed because of the noises he made. I laughed because I was enjoying it. I laughed because he was in pain...

If I had realized that this would happen...I would have stopped.

But I didn't stop.

I've been telling myself it was adrenaline, or was fueled by pent up tension, but I know the truth.

I wanted to do it.

I needed to do it.

As his moans turned into screams, I became elated. By the time I shoved my claws through the thin layer of scales beneath his limbs, he was screaming at the top of his lungs. Whether he was getting any enjoyment did not concern me as his blood ran through my claws. The dominant thought in my mind was how wonderful it felt...wonderful to cause pain and to reap its rewards.

The screams.

The submission.

The blood.

I fell to the side, and he fell limp. Looking up at my blood-soaked claws, I was content, happy, ecstatic. My body shook and my breathing was heavy. The smell of blood filled my nostrils.

And Spyro was dead.


	2. Descending

**Descending**

**Again, fragments and line spacing used stylistically.**

A blast of heat knocked me off balance, almost sending me hurtling toward the ground. Within the mass of black cloud that I was slowly leaving behind, it had been cool. But now, as red-streaked stone walls rose to meet me, it was hot. The heat seemed to be coming from me, radiating out toward the walls and reflecting down and back toward me off of the slanted walls. However, as I continued to drift down, the hot, thick air putting a great pressure on my wing membrane to keep me aloft, I realized the heat was from below.

The bottom looked to be molten.

Though I thought to flap my wings, they did not respond.

I was stuck. And able to move every muscle in my body aside from those that would save me.

As I fell further, the air became littered; littered with hollow, draconic skeletons They seemed to part for me as I approached, and in their lifeless eyes, emotion was reflected. I saw anguish. I saw sorrow. I saw, a reflection of my own, fear.

I touched down, and the fiery-hued ground accepted me. Immediately I wished it had not. I did not feel anything upon touching it, but I did...hear it. It spoke to me. It said, "You...shall atone. Your deeds are hideous in our eyes! You shall feel pain; the darkness of all you've done shall rend the flesh from your bones."

I opened my mouth to speak, to defend myself, to tell that it wasn't my fault, that it was out of my control, it was...ingrained in my very being. But I couldn't muster a sound.

The ground pulsated beneath me, a rhythmic thrumming that slowly grew into a constant hum. Inside, I felt strange. I couldn't feel my heartbeat anymore and my breathing was shallow and dispersed. Things were shifting around. They were rearranging.

I vomited.

Next came the blood.

For several minutes it felt like dull rocks were being pushed through my skin; until they broke through. I looked down, and could only watch as blood began pouring through my skin. It didn't hurt, and was only slightly odd as it ran down to pool beneath me.

Why was this happening- why did it have to happen? And why to me?

Did I make such mistakes as to be standing here in my own blood?

To be alive...when I should be dead?

My eyes snapped upward as a small flake, black, came into view. I watched as it slowly floated down and from side to side on it's path to the ground. But then I lost track of it. My attention was on the others. Thousands on miniscule read and black flakes fell from my body, right before my eyes.

I wanted to scream, to cry! But I couldn't. I had no reason; I had felt...nothing?

There I stood. Grey, lifeless flesh, supported by an immobile skeleton, and controlled by...a torn, hollow mind.

I deserved this. I had committed countless murders, and never done good for the world.

"...Cyn...der..."

I killed my mate, and the only one who I ever loved...the only one to ever truly love me.

"...Cynder..."

Was that a voice? My name?

"...Cynder, wake up!"

Yes, Cynder is my name, but who-

"Cynder!" Spyro yelled. I snapped awake and stared up at him. After blinking my eyes a few times I groaned. The moonlight reflected in his eyes showed my face. I looked afraid and downtrodden; I was covered in sweat.

"Spyro...You're- alive?" I asked.

"Of course I am!" he replied, "Should I not be?"

"No, I- guess it was a dream, a horrid, wonderful dream."


End file.
